The Debt
by Marauder-In-Disguise
Summary: On the night of Carolyn's funeral an old friend is there for Dave, just as he always has been...


**A/N – Because the fascination with David Rossi just never seems to end…**

**Disclaimer – I own nothing recognisable because I am poor **

It was a relief to be home with the dog at his feet, the phone off the hook and a bottle of wine at his side. It had been a long time since Dave had arranged a funeral and he hadn't welcomed the experience one bit. Carolyn's family was small, very small. Her parents had died before he met her and she was an only child; apart from a smattering of cousins half way across the country and friends in the several states she had lived in, she had virtually no one in the world. They had come to pay their respects though, and really that was all that had mattered. If they hadn't been there, the turnout would have been depressing to say the least. As it happened, it was a manageable group; Dave's sisters were unable to make it but Aaron had insisted on coming, and when he turned up he had Prentiss with him. Quite how she sneaked under the radar and got out of work, Dave didn't know but Morgan had been left in charge for the day and must have been successful in covering her absence. They stood by his side during the service and he was grateful for their presence, even if Emily made him feel oddly wistful; there was no chance of this funeral turning out quite like the last one he had been to.

And on his other side, leading him through the day with gentle touches to his arm and filling his ears with a comfortingly rich baritone during the hymns, was his oldest friend Jimmy. Aaron and Prentiss submitted quite readily to Jimmy's authority and took over effortlessly when he disappeared at the end of the service, before the wake. Dave didn't take the vanishing act personally – you couldn't, with Jimmy. He never did anything maliciously. He'd have a perfectly good reason for leaving, maybe some other soul who desperately needed him, but you knew that if you needed him again he'd come right back.

Which is why Dave was sat in his chair with two glasses next to the bottle of wine, waiting for the knock at the door.

It wasn't a long time coming.

Mudgie jumped up from his place at Dave's feet and beat him to the door, leaping eagerly up at the wood panelling.

"Get out of the way then!" Dave exclaimed, pushing the dog gently away so that he could get to opening the door. Jimmy was chuckling when he pulled it open, having heard the commotion and he greeted the dog with almost as much enthusiasm as Mudgie was showing him. Dave stood by, shaking his head wryly.

"I don't know which one of you is worse," he said when Jimmy finally looked up at him, "At least you don't lick his face when you get excited."

"He's just showing his affection the only way he knows how, David," Jimmy shrugged out his coat and hung it on the hook by the door, "He's a good dog."

"I know he is," Dave said, his hand straying to Mudgie's sleek head, "I thought you'd probably show up. I've got a bottle of wine breathing."

"I'm sorry I had to leave earlier," Jimmy said, trailing him into the lounge and claiming the second chair as his own, "I didn't want to but you know how it is. No rest for the wicked."

"If you're wicked, Jimmy, the rest of us have no hope whatsoever."

The exchange was a familiar one and comfortable in that familiarity; Jimmy accepted his glass of wine with a slight blush at the compliment and they sat in silence for a while, the gentle thud of Mudgie's tail on the floor the only noise. Dave used the time to distract himself from thoughts of the day past by taking a proper look at his friend; his hair was getting long even for him, his fingernails needed a trim, he looked tired and his shirt was rumpled, but apart from that he was the same old Jimmy. He'd never been one to care for his appearance and usually went for a haircut when the mane was brushing the top of his collar but sometimes he forgot in the face of more important things to do – souls to save, charities to help, that sort of thing.

"Stop profiling me, David," he suddenly said, his voice good natured, "I'm here for you, not the other way around."

"I know that, Jim. I just don't know what else to do."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know where to start," he said honestly, "I've never missed her more than I do right now."

"It's understandable," Jimmy leaned forwards in his chair, his glass cradled between his hands, "There's things you wish you had said, things you thought you might get the chance to do one day."

"That's about it. You're right, as always."

"Are you thinking about him as well?"

"I don't have any photographs of him," was David's unexpected response to the question, "I thought I would never want any and now I'm here and I just want to look at his face one more time."

Jimmy looked studiously around the tastefully decorated lounge, his glasses resting on his nose as he peered at the shelves and walls around him.

"Forgive me for saying so, David but it doesn't look like you have many pictures of anyone."

"Not in here. Come upstairs."

The study was the only room in the house that Dave kept locked when he wasn't in it. The housekeeper knew to leave it alone and even Mudgie tended to act like he needed permission to go in despite the dog bed placed under the window. Dave liked to think of the study as the only room that was an extension of himself, and so it was here that he kept all of the photographs and important things along with his piles and piles of case notes and manuscripts in all stages of production. He took a seat in his desk chair and waved a hand to indicate that Jimmy could feel free to peruse the shelves if he so wished. With his glass of wine in hand, making him look vaguely like a dealer at an art gallery on opening night, Jimmy did just that. From the cluster of photographs on the shelf over the desk that immortalised Mama and Papa Rossi, Dave's sisters, nieces, nephews and grandmother to the silver framed picture of the early BAU team being presented with their first commendations that sat on the far end of the long desk, Jimmy could tell that each of the moments chosen had undergone a meticulous selection process. There were no photographs of Dave meeting famous people, shaking hands with dignitaries or any other ego inflating fare; instead, there were memories of someone for whom family was the most important thing.

On the mantle above the fireplace, Dave could tell that his friend had found the selection that he was really interested in. Pushing the chair neatly back under the desk, he moved to stand by Jimmy's side. There were no pictures of Wife Number Two or Three, but that wouldn't come as a surprise to Jimmy and Dave did not regret neglecting them. On one end of the mantle sat his and Carolyn's wedding portrait, in the same place that it had been for far longer than the time that she had been back in his life. At the other end was Emma, taken at some point back when they were all young together in Commack and she didn't look like the world had got on top of her. To the right of that was the most recent of the pictures in the room; Dave and Aaron standing proudly with their little soccer stars for the first official team photo. Jimmy smiled as he examined each tiny, happy face and the small hand belonging to one of the girls that had snaked out and grabbed Dave's wrist at the last minute before the picture was taken. And then he got to the final picture on the mantle; of Dave, himself and Ray, their arms around each other's shoulders and big goofy grins on their faces. It was taken the day before Dave left for the Marines, at the little gathering that Mama Rossi decided to throw for her only son and the baby of the family. It was a bittersweet memory and Jimmy found himself having to swallow hard past the lump in his throat, because after that party everything changed between them and things were never the same. Ray had taken a wrong turn, chosen the wrong path, and they all knew it. When he had died two years previously, Jimmy hadn't spoken to him properly for so many years that he couldn't even bear to count them.

"I miss him you know," Dave said suddenly, following Jimmy's gaze, "I always did, even when we knew what he was getting involved with."

"Me too. I pray for him every single night."

"I would expect nothing less from you, Jim."

Dave turned to smile weakly at his friend and found that he was being watched intensely. Jimmy had something else to say and he was hesitating, his fist tight around his empty wine glass. Eventually he spoke.

"I pray for James too. Every single day since he was born, I've prayed for him."

"Thank you," Dave said in a low voice, gesturing to a small space between two of the frames, "I'd put a picture of him here, if I had one. I wish I hadn't said no to the nurse who offered to take one."

Jimmy sucked in a breath and turned to Dave with a contented smile on his face. He slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out an old looking Polaroid snapshot. Holding it out for Dave to take, he shrugged.

"She did take one, when you and Carolyn were distracted. She gave it to me in case you changed your mind. I've been waiting thirty two years for you to say that you had."

With trembling fingers, Dave reached out and delicately took the offering. It was faded somewhat, although by age rather than neglect because he knew Jimmy would have looked after it. James looked so tiny and the wires from machines attempting to pump life into his body made him look even smaller. His little face was screwed up and his fingers were curled, strained from the battle he was fighting, but to Dave he was just as beautiful as he remembered him being.

Tears that he had been attempting to restrain all day began to fall as he looked once more at his only son, and Jimmy spoke softly as he put one arm around Dave's shoulders.

"I felt so helpless that day, David. I would have done anything to try and stop your pain, and Carolyn's."

"You helped just by being there, Jim. You know we had no one else in Virginia."

"I know," Jimmy removed his arm and wandered to the sideboard he had noticed, assuming it would contain scotch or whisky of some sort. Pouring them both a glass, he handed one to Dave and continued, "That's why I took the photograph when the nurse offered it to me. She said you weren't thinking straight and you needed time to accept how important it would be. I didn't realise she meant over thirty years but then I haven't really minded waiting."

"You're a damn good friend, Jimmy," Dave wiped his face and carefully propped the picture against one of the frames before he looked at it some more, "I don't know what I ever did to deserve someone as decent as you on my side."

There was a kind of peace in Dave's tone that Jimmy had been waiting for and when he heard it, he knew that his oldest friend would be alright. They headed downstairs and resumed their seats in front of the fire, Dave flicking on the tail end of a baseball game that they watched in companionable silence, until he turned once more to his friend.

"I never told you something Jimmy."

"What's that, David?"

"Did you ever wonder where the name 'James' came from?"

"I can't say that I did."

"It was after you, Jim. We named him after you."

It was rare that Jimmy had nothing to say but as he sat with his mouth slightly open and his eyes glistening at the admission of something that was always meant to be kept a well-guarded secret, David sat back in his chair and thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd started to pay back the debt he had racked up the day someone dropped Jimmy into his life.


End file.
